Chuck vs The Rescue
by NMH
Summary: Chuck is Intersect-less and on a mission! Oh, boy. Things go awry - of course they do - and he needs to save the day. But how? A missing adventure between 4.09 and 4.10
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** Hello all! This is my second attempt at writing fanfiction. Spoilers for season 4 up ahead!_

_This story grew from a few small ideas and one big one I had a while ago. Then I decided, what the hell, why not combine them all? Then "First Fight" aired and Chuck lost the Intersect, then "Fear of Death" came :-/ and he got kidnapped, and then "Phase Three" aired :D and Sonya Blade, er, I mean Sarah Walker and all of her epic badassery saved him (and this episode catapulted to the top of everyone's list of favorite Chuck episodes, including mine). I got really excited at the end of that episode cos the General still considered him valuable. I thought "Oooh, Chuck is still going to be part of the team! We're going to get to see some Season 1 & 2 dynamics going on! Yay!" Well…*sigh* then "Leftovers" aired :P and all I got to see was Chuck in the background not really playing a role before he got re-Intersected. That's when I decided to throw an Intersect-less Chuck into my story. Here's to hoping it all works out! Imagine this story picks up in the second half or last quarter of a regular 'Chuck' episode – you know? Where everything miraculously gets resolved in the last 15 minutes? I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. This story will only be a few chapters long._

_Special thanks to my sister who encouraged *cough*nagged*cough* me into writing my idea down. I'm still quite nervous about posting it and suffered from writer's block/holiday laziness, as I had intended for this whole story to be posted before Chuck returned from hiatus, and she yelled at me – via all forms of communication – to get it done. So thanks, Sis! A HUGE thank you to **retropanda37**. She's beta'ing this story for me. She's awesome y'all. Please go check out her fics. If you feel like reading some heartwarming, "aww" inducing stories, go read hers. Or if you just feel like reading a good fic – go check them out!_

_**Disclaimer** – I don't own Chuck or any of its characters. Please don't sue!_

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Chuck blindly pointed his gun over his shoulder toward the sky and winced as he squeezed the trigger.

He hoped it would slow down his pursuers and cause them to take cover behind one of the many structures lining either side of the cobblestone street he was currently sprinting down. It had been ten minutes since they had gotten split up. In the back of his mind he knew that by continuing to be a part of the team without the aid of the Intersect, his current situation was a possibility. Just because he knew it was possible didn't stop him from freaking out.

_The U.S. will deny any and all involvement. You're on your own on this one. _

Those words echoed in his head louder than the blood pounding in his ears. He was happy to be able to take part in a mission as a member of the team even without a functioning Intersect. But he knew something was going to go wrong as soon as he heard the General say those words to the team. It was imminent – an omen.

And now he found himself grateful, as he bolted down a street, for the numerous times it was repeated during mission planning to go to the rendezvous should the team by any chance get split up. Of course his knowledge of that contingency didn't stop Sarah and Casey from yelling at him to do so just as they were forced to go their separate ways.

Thankful that the only occupants of the street were him and those after him, he felt less guilty about firing the warning shot – though he was sure the people who ambled in this side of town were fairly used to chases on public streets resulting in occasional gunfire.

His earpiece made a crackling noise that startled him into faltering a couple of steps before quickly righting himself back into his run.

He pressed his comm link. "Sarah? Sarah, where are you?" he asked in between breaths.

"Chuck! Are you okay?"

"Well, yeah…for now" he said gasping. He ducked into a narrow side street just as a bullet pierced the brick of the building he turned against, barely missing his head. The past three and half years of being shot at couldn't stop the yelp the near-hit drew from him or the jerk his body made. "Okay, well honestly, I could be better. I have two guys after me but I'm pretty sure I can lose them. Are - are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Casey and I ended up crossing paths." There was a pause. "Chuck, please be careful."

"Yeah, I will. I'll see you at the rendezvous." His earpiece then went silent.

Relieved that neither Sarah nor Casey had been captured, he concentrated again on eluding those after him. Suddenly feeling wistful for the days of staying in the car, he winced as the rapid movement of his swinging arms and deep intakes of breaths aggravated the flesh wound that stretched across his chest. He really shouldn't have tried to take that shortcut across the multiple backyards and hurdle over the many cinderblock partitions separating each house. _Heh_. He scoffed to himself. Backyard was a generous term. They were more like uncovered forty-by-forty foot concrete patios with blades of grass and dirt sprinkled over them.

All the "shortcut" did was slow him down as he forgot that the majority of the people in this country actually hung their clothes outside to dry, at least the part of the country he was barreling through. Even without the Intersect working, never in his life did he think he would ever be so oblivious to his surroundings to actually be clotheslined, let alone by an actual clothesline. Casey's voice sounded in his head: _Moron_. And now traces of blood were seeping into his pastel blue linen shirt he had buttoned up to hide the slice through his skin. He didn't want to draw any attention to himself once he was in the clear. The tear in his skin wasn't too deep but his sweat sure was making it sting.

He turned left back onto one of the wider streets from his alleyway and from the corner of his eye saw one of his pursuers spot him, shout something, and pick up speed from the end of the narrow pathway he just finished running down.

Oh, God.

Chuck pushed his legs even harder and began to feel his lungs burn as every breath he took felt like sandpaper scraping against his throat. He knew he hadn't been on missions in quite some time but he thought he had more in the tank than _this_. He hadn't even heard Sarah gasping on the comm. link when they briefly spoke. How did she and Casey do this all the time? There was no way he'd be able to keep this speed up much longer and his chasers certainly weren't slowing down. Needing to do _something_ to stop them so as to not bring them directly to the rendezvous, his gun suddenly felt a bit heavier than it did just moments ago. He knew what he had to do. He was still technically a spy, right? This is what spies do. Still, just because it was inevitable didn't mean he had to like it.

Don't think – just do it. It's just like little league, just like little league, he coaxed himself.

Okay, maybe a little Daniel Craig, too.

Here goes nothing. He gritted his teeth, tightened his grip around his Sig and skidded to a halt, simultaneously leaning back and using his hand as an anchor to slide on his leg. He quickly spun around on his knee just as the faster one of his two pursuers came around the corner. He couldn't help hoping the move looked as cool as he thought it did.

He nervously took aim and fired.

The shot hit its intended target as the echo from the blast still sounded in the air. The man skipped on one leg before dropping to the ground, howling in pain as he clutched his knee. Thank God for Duck Hunt. His victim was spitting out curse words in Spanish that Chuck was familiar with given that he lived in southern California. He waited a couple beats and heard fast approaching footsteps coming from the direction where his fallen target laid. The footsteps slowed down and his other pursuer came around the corner. He took aim again and fired, hitting him in the same spot as he did his friend. The man fell over as well as and Chuck felt relief course through him at seeing them both on the ground, no longer able to follow him.

He found himself emitting a satisfied grunt – did he just grunt? It seemed like the only fitting release, though he was sure Sarah wouldn't be too happy with him taking a risk and stopping his escape to fire off a couple of shots at some assassins. He shrugged. Nothing could be done about that now. He jumped to his feet and took off again down the street, satisfied at the distance he created by incapacitating his chasers. Pulling up the mental map he studiously memorized in his preparation for the mission, he turned right, down another side street. The cries of pain were much farther away now.

Noticing the change in terrain under his sandals, and grateful he chose to wear a pair that strapped to his feet and not flip-flops, he felt the smoother road beneath him and began to slow down. He still silently cursed himself for wanting to blend in and therefore deciding to forgo his customary all-stars. What the hell was he thinking? Blending in was uncomfortable. And sandals didn't make for practical mission footwear. The bells of the cathedral he had been running toward suddenly clanged and he quickly looked up.

He was close now.

Slowing his pace until he was able to forcibly steady his breaths, Chuck fell into normal, leisurely strides. The rendezvous he, Sarah, and Casey were supposed to meet Morgan at was three blocks away from the church. He tucked his gun into the small of his back, covered it with his shirt, and coolly walked out onto the street. Well, he hoped it looked cool and collected instead of belying his racing thoughts and jumping nerves. Spotting a small kiosk in front of one of the many small stores lining the roadway, he bought a pair of cheap metal sunglasses, slid them on and grabbed a tourist brochure, feeling slightly more secure with the addition of the impromptu disguise.

The area wasn't too heavily populated but had steady foot traffic. While pretending to read the brochure, he furtively glanced above the rim of his sunglasses at the rendezvous point he was nonchalantly walking toward and spotted Morgan. He was wearing linen pants, a shirt similar to his own, and was doing a terrible job at looking casual. Chuck rolled his eyes as he watched his friend indecisively switch from leaning his shoulder on the store window pane to shuffling a couple of steps over to prop one leg against the building, all the while folding and refolding his arms across his chest and turning his head from side to side to check his surroundings, in what Chuck was positive Morgan considered a discreet manner.

Chuck surreptitiously pushed the communication link from his earpiece. "You gotta do a better job than that, buddy."

Immediately, Morgan jumped and even more indiscreetly than before, looked around the street and spotted Chuck.

"Morgan!" Chuck said in a harsh whisper. "What'd I just say?"

"Sorry," Morgan hissed.

"Look, calm down and stop fumbling with your arms…just stick your hands in your pockets and walk inside the store. I'll be over in a minute."

"Got it. Cobra out."

Chuck simply rolled his eyes again and idly made his way across the street, checking for any sign of Sarah and Casey, but didn't see them.

As he stepped inside the little shop Morgan was in, he took off his sunglasses, rolled up the brochure, and gave a nod to the attendant behind the counter. The store was full of racks and shelves with various shirts, towels, and knickknacks that bore either the Venezuelan flag, the country name, a picture of the actual country, or indigenous people native to the country. As he scanned the store his eyes rested on his bearded friend standing by a rotating rack of key chains. Nearing him, he found Morgan diligently searching and spinning the rack, the crease in his forehead deepening with each spin. Not taking his eyes off the key chains he grumbled, "Man, I can't find her name anywhere."

"Alex?"

"Yeah." Frustrated, he asked, "I mean it's a fairly common name, right?"

"Well, we are in Venezuela. Your best bet is probably 'Alejandra.'"

Morgan snapped his fingers. "You're right! Hmm, let's see…" he said, running his fingers over one particular column. "Ah, found it. I guess 'Alejandra' is a common name here, too," he said, grinning and dangling the key chain to show Chuck before he placed it back on the rack. He leaned around Chuck's body to glance at the man behind the counter, then turned more serious and asked "So, what happened, man? I had no visual. Do you know how scary it is to hear you all shouting at each other to head over here and you yelling at me through the comms 'abandon post!' and to meet you at the rendezvous? I'm telling you buddy, my heart was pounding. Oh yeah…do you have the drive?"

Chuck took a deep breath and patted his right pocket, making sure he felt the object. "Yeah, yeah I got it," he said as he reached and pulled out the flash drive. "But it all hit the fan during the retrieval at the meeting between the diplomats before I got the chance to run the programs to verify the intel. Beckman didn't want a repeat of the Milan mission, so before we came back she wanted us to be positive the intel was accurate. Looks like that won't happen, though."

"Well, hey, at least you got out."

"Yeah, but I'm getting worried. Sarah and Casey still aren't here," Chuck said as he crossed the store and leaned out the entrance. He pushed the comm. link to contact his partners. "Sarah?"

Silence.

"Sarah?"

He stepped out of the store and looked down both sides of the street, Morgan following on his heels.

"Casey?" he tried again.

Chuck and Morgan both shared worried glances.

"They're probably still on their way, Chuck."

Chuck looked at Morgan but didn't say anything, his mind jumping through the different possibilities for Sarah and Casey not making it to the rendezvous, but always landing on the worst scenario – they had been captured. He shook his head hoping those thoughts would disappear.

"Okay…uh, let's search this side of the street for any sign of them," Chuck said, indicating to their left. "...shouts, footsteps, gunshots – anything, then we'll head back down this way."

At the mention of gunshots Morgan's eyebrows shot up to his hairline before he forcefully swallowed and nodded his head. Chuck slid on his sunglasses once again and made his way down the street with Morgan at his side. They were both glancing around taking in every detail of the street, looking for any flash of blonde hair, shouts in Spanish beyond those already present, echoes of gunfire, even noises resembling growls and grunts.

Suddenly, Morgan spoke. "So what's on the flash drive?"

"Supposedly some hardcore intel. The Venezuelans and Iranians are exchanging some kind of information…something big. Something that we're not supposed to know. Beckman seemed pretty on edge about it. I think that's probably the main reason she agreed to let you come along. She's desperate - "

"Desperate? Chuck, man, c'mon I think I can be plenty of help on missions, even Casey is trusting me more."

Chuck smiled. "I was going to say desperate for all of the _skills_ she can get to complete this mission," he said as he turned to look pointedly at Morgan. "No matter how unconventional. Add that to the fact that you begged and begged to come along on a mission this covert that could possibly end badly…which I gotta say, I don't understand."

According to the escape routes they had mapped out while planning the mission, they'd reached the farthest point down the street where Sarah and Casey might emerge, so they turned around and made their way toward the other end of the street.

"But don't worry buddy, I believe in you. You and I both have other talents to bring to this team. I'll definitely have to start relying on them more now that the Intersect isn't working for me," Chuck said.

A silence fell between them as they made their way down the street, keeping their eyes and ears open for Sarah and Casey. He was becoming more and more worried with every step, an uneasy feeling growing in his stomach. His thoughts of Sarah and Casey captured now returned and wouldn't go away. He ran a hand down his face, stopping to scratch the five-day old facial hair Sarah had told him to grow out in another effort to blend in and hopefully change his appearance some. All it did was make his face itchy and had the annoying ability of somehow making him sweat more. He glanced at Morgan intending to ask him later how his friend tolerated a beard.

As they reached the end of the street and prepared to turn back around toward the shop they started their search from, Morgan threw him another worried glance, but didn't say anything. Chuck didn't know what was going on. Why weren't Sarah and Casey at the rendezvous? His only comfort was in knowing at least they were together. Still, that knowledge didn't quell his nerves. Just a few paces short of the rendezvous his earpiece crackled. He made his way toward an alleyway with Morgan in tow and pushed his comm. link.

"Sarah? Sarah, are you okay?"

He glanced at his friend who had his head down and a finger pushed in the ear without the earpiece, attempting to block out any surrounding noise. Chuck found himself holding his breath while waiting for a response.

"So that's her name," spoke an accented male voice from the other end.

Shit.

Morgan's head snapped up to face him, his eyes wide. Chuck felt his stomach drop and face drain of color as he heard the unfamiliar voice. He ran a hand through his hair and grabbed a fistful before angrily releasing it. He put a finger to his mouth, signaling Morgan to keep quiet. He gathered himself as best he could before he clenched his jaw and spoke as Charles Carmichael.

"Who is this?" Chuck asked in a voice holding barely restrained anger.

"I want the drive back," the man evenly responded, ignoring Chuck's question.

Chuck tried to calm himself so as to not bark at the man holding Sarah captive. He wasn't in any position to make threats considering he didn't have the Intersect skills to follow through on any of them, nor did he feel like bluffing with Sarah's life on the line. He just wanted Sarah and Casey back. Now.

"Okay. Fine. Where do you want the exchange to happen?" Chuck asked, quickly realizing he probably shouldn't have sounded so eager to get them back. His anxiousness was likely to be more telling than any of his words.

Chuck heard a muffled yell come from Casey in the background, in what sounded like protest, before abruptly cutting off. Casey was probably upset, Chuck thought, knowing he wouldn't think twice about returning the intel if it meant Casey and Sarah were safe.

"Casey?"

"Your friend needs to know when not to talk. Unfortunately for him, he now has a nice little bump on his head."

He grimaced. Chuck couldn't help but think, though, that the man was rather fluent in English meaning he must have been one of the politicos attending the meeting.

"Look, when and where do you want the exchange to happen?" Chuck asked again, growing impatient. He didn't care if he came off as eager now. He just wanted this to happen quickly. The longer he waited, the more time they had to hurt Sarah.

"I never said anything about an exchange," the voice answered. Chuck felt his insides crawl. At that moment Chuck knew not to trust a single word that was about to leave this man's mouth – as if holding his girlfriend and partner captive and cold-cocking said partner wasn't enough of a reason. "You know two American agents are quite valuable Mr…" he trailed off, looking for Chuck to answer.

"Carmichael," Chuck provided through gritted teeth. He didn't like the direction this conversation suddenly took. He looked at Morgan and saw him wearing a distressed expression. He could only imagine the look his face displayed.

"Well, Mr. _Carmichael..._" he said. There was a pause from the man that made Chuck's mind reel. He needed to start formulating a plan because he knew this wasn't going to end well. "You will come to us. You will bring me the drive. You know why?"

Because you're a jackass.

"Because what kind of agent would so quickly be willing to give up the kind of precious information currently in your possession?" Chuck slowly closed his eyes knowing he had slipped up earlier when he seemed too eager. "Probably one whose partner holds some special meaning to him, no? I get the feeling it's not the big one." The man paused again. What was it with bad guys always having to pause so dramatically? It took them forever just to make a threat. Sadly, the break in conversation still had the desired effect of making Chuck nervous. The man finally spoke again. "So perhaps…the woman?"

Chuck yanked the sunglasses off of his face as his eyes snapped open. He could hear the smirk in the man's voice and _that_ irritated him to no end. Showing the restraint he was currently exhibiting was no small feat. The only thing keeping him from making any snide remarks or threats to this man was the thought of Sarah. He needed to do everything in his power to ensure this man didn't harm her.

A soft, arrogant laugh journeyed its way into Chuck's earpiece and Chuck felt a bout of pure fury course through him. If this conversation didn't end soon, he was sure his teeth were going to crack given how hard he was grinding them. His jaw was already aching.

"Your silence is my answer. I suggest you bring me the drive. Tomorrow. Sundown."

"Where?" was all Chuck managed to say in a voice shaking with poorly restrained rage.

"It shouldn't be too hard, Carmichael. You _are_ an agent after all. Find us."

With that, the earpiece went dead.

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_I know – Chuck shooting someone? Eh, I wanted to give him a bit of a spine. He's a spy, right?  
_

_**If you haven't seen 4.11, stop reading now! **_

_I realize nobody cares for my thoughts about 'Chuck' but I must ask this: Doesn't it seem like there have been quite a few instances this season in which the show seems to have gotten some ideas from the stories on this site? I can't be the only one to have taken notice. I'm looking forward to seeing how this double agent story arc plays out, but Sarah better not have an alias that begins with the name Emma, or I might just lose it. On another note: Tide-To-Go sticks really are amazing, aren't they? They're almost like magic. Anyway, let me know what you think of my fic so far!_


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N:_**_ Hello all! Unfortunately, real life in the forms of many hours studying, a gargantuan freak-out over a HUGE quiz, said quiz – seriously, what kind of "quiz" is over an hour long? That's clearly an exam. I digress – parents visiting, and my local grocery store suddenly lacking in their stock of Dove Dark Chocolates have prevented me from writing. Not to mention that my chapters require a few re-writes that my unimaginative mind struggles with. Anyway, I'm a bit bummed cos Monday's episode used a similar idea I had for this fic. Oh, well. I'll still use it cos it's crucial. _

_A HUGE thank you to **retropanda37** for her awesome feedback and for beta'ing this chapter for me. She gives me reassurance when I start doubting the words on the page. Also, a thank you to my sister for her multitudinous positive emoticons she texts me once she's read a draft I've sent her, even though she becomes much more honest about my first draft after reading the second draft. Hmmm. Thank you to those who read/reviewed the first chapter and/or set an alert for this story – it warms my heart. Seriously. Okay, enough with the gratitude, I could go on forever…._

_Oh, wait, one more! I'd like to say thank you to **Jack-1977** for the shout-out in his A/N. Check out his story "Chuck versus The World" when you can. It's a great read, especially if you're into AU._

**_Disclaimer: _**_I had to check my account for any grand purchases, just to be sure, and it proved to be a futile effort. Don't own Chuck!_

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He was seeing stars.

His jaw hurt and so did his hand.

Especially his hand.

Throughout his conversation with Mr. Accent, as Chuck had taken to calling him in his head, he had repeatedly clenched his jaw, hands, and eyes. He was mad. Only now that he was no longer hearing Mr. Accent's voice was he able to relieve those muscles from their contracted states – and now they hurt. Chuck looked down at his hand to see why it was hurting beyond an ache.

Oh.

Well, he won't be able to wear those anymore. The sunglasses were now a crumpled mess of bent metal fragments that were currently digging into his palm. Chuck threw them aside as he realized they were breaking skin. Taking a few calming breaths, he rubbed his forehead with the heels of his hands. Now was not the time to indulge in his anger, panic, and worry. Nor was it the time to freak out. He needed a plan.

"You know," Morgan began, interrupting his thoughts, "I don't think I've ever actually been in a situation involving the tables turning...until now. And I must say, I don't like it. At all." Morgan intoned, more annoyed than angry. "Chuck, how are we going to save them?" he practically shouted as he abruptly shifted into panic mode.

Chuck blinked. So much for not freaking out.

Dropping his hands from his head, Chuck looked determinedly at his friend. "We just need a plan, Morgan. We need to get them back."

"How do we even know where they are?" Morgan asked.

"You heard him. This jerk wants the drive back and w_ants_ me to find him. He'll make it easy," Chuck said as he pulled out his phone. "He probably wants me, too," he mumbled.

He pulled up the GPS application that would allow him to check the locations of Sarah and Casey. On the screen were two moving dots. Morgan stood next to him peering over his arm and pointed at the screen.

"Hey, at least they're still together, right? That's a good thing."

"Yeah, but they're still moving," Chuck said, setting an alert to notify him once they stopped, before placing it back in his pocket.

His thoughts were racing. He and Sarah had _just_ been reunited and now, she was the one who needed rescuing. Morgan had told him of some of the incredible lengths Sarah had gone to in order to find him, but as the details were kind of brutal, he figured he didn't need to know all of the specifics concerning the cross-country rampage by the "giant blonde she-male." Now, Sarah was the one who needed him to find her. Oh, God. If he was honest with himself, he really felt like sharing in Morgan's panic but that would just be a waste of time and energy and he couldn't afford that. Neither could Sarah. Chuck knew he was going to need Morgan's help if he was going to have any chance of rescuing Sarah and Casey. The reality of the situation, though, was beginning to set in – they were two guys possessing no real physical spy skills suddenly having to save their partners, in a foreign country, from some very bad people.

"Look I need you, buddy," Chuck said, grabbing Morgan by the shoulders. "I need to get Sarah back, okay. I _need_ her back. We have to come up with a plan," he said again, not bothering to hide his worry and desperation from creeping into his voice.

Morgan looked up and nodded.

"Okay, okay," Morgan breathed. "By the way, I don't know how you kept it together, man; I mean _I_ almost blurted something out at that accent guy."

If he wasn't so worried, he might've smiled at his friend referring to Mr. Accent by a similar name. Chuck released Morgan's shoulders and flexed his fingers, still feeling the ache. "Well it's a good thing you didn't…and believe me, it wasn't easy."

After a few beats of silence had passed, Morgan spoke. "I don't know how we're going to do this."

"Believe it or not, this isn't the first time I've had to do something like this. But the last time I did have the help of an alcoholic lothario…albeit, legend of a spy. And it wasn't a jungle we were in – we were actually in the Buy More, and it wasn't – " Chuck stopped himself at seeing Morgan's concerned face. His nerves were making him babble. Why was he babbling at a time like this? "Not important right now. Some other time. We need to focus on a plan."

Pocketing his earpiece, Chuck stepped out onto the street and motioned for Morgan to follow. A silence fell between them as they started walking. He began running over the things he knew. He currently had the drive with the "precious" intel in his possession. Sarah and Casey were still on the move and had been for an unknown amount of time, though he hoped they stopped soon. Mr. Accent desperately wanted the drive with said "precious" intel back and therefore would not likely play any games with their locations. The equipment and weapons that were to be used for the initial mission were at his disposal.

And he had Morgan.

Things could be worse.

He could have no weapons.

In all honesty, he meant what he said earlier – he believed in Morgan and together, they could make something work. Suddenly remembering that all communication with Beckman had been severed once they landed because of the more-than-normal clandestine nature of their mission and the U.S.'s denial of involvement, Chuck released an aggravated sigh. This caused Morgan to turn toward Chuck expectantly but he just waved him off. He didn't want to voice his concerns to Morgan. At least if he was able to contact headquarters, there was the slim chance that he could receive some kind of back up. Not now, though. This mission wasn't "officially" happening. It really was just him and Morgan.

Oh. That's right. He also didn't have the Intersect.

"Chuck, you gotta say something man, I'm starting to freak out here."

You and me both.

"Okay, we just have to come up with a plan." How many times had he said that already with no plan being formed? "Unfortunately, we can't really form one until we know where they–"

A familiar chirping interrupted him and immediately stopped them mid-stride.

Scrambling to pull out his phone, Chuck spared a glance in Morgan's direction whose eyes were widened in anticipation, before looking back down to see that the GPS signals had stopped moving.

"They stopped!"

Morgan was at his side at once, trying to look at the screen. Tapping one of the dots that held its respective coordinates, an aerial shot of trees just a bit away from the ocean appeared.

Trees?

He was so used to warehouses, he didn't know what this meant. He and Morgan shared a look that made it clear to him that Morgan was just as bewildered. Swiping his thumbs across the screens – silently thankful for the progression of technology – the shot zoomed in further to reveal a clearing within the trees.

Well, now this makes more sense.

After a few more swipes using the data that the coordinates could provide, he gleaned, through some indirect channels of information, that this was the rumored location of a rebel camp. Fantastic. Why couldn't it have been a warehouse? Or even an abandoned building. At least he was familiar with those – they were all relatively the same. He was definitely unfamiliar with jungles in South America, or jungles anywhere for that matter, let alone those that hosted rebel armies. The only jungles he had experience with were those of Thailand and he clearly didn't fare well in them. This rescue just got a lot more difficult.

Logically, it made sense for the captors to bring Sarah and Casey to the camp. One of the two countries involved in the foiled intel exchange probably had some kind of unofficial relationship with the rebel army. The numbers alone would be an advantage.

"Okay…well, uh," Chuck started. "So obviously this rescue mission of ours just got a lot hairier. And frankly, that's…" he paused, searching for the appropriate words. "…scary as hell." Yeah that worked. "This just means that now more than ever, we can't afford to do anything stupid, like, oh, I don't know…get caught."

"I'm with you on that."

"So, at least now we can start coming up with a plan."

Finally.

As they resumed walking back to their base of operations, Chuck began to let his mind run over past missions, trying to see if any of the methods used could possibly be transferred to their current situation. When he had to rescue Sarah and Casey with Roan, the saving grace had been "remember Thailand." Well, he didn't want to remember Thailand anymore. It meant something else entirely to him now. Nor did he think jumping off a building would help him any, seeing as there probably weren't any buildings in the jungle. He was desperately wracking his mind but was coming up with nothing. This was horrible. His girlfriend needed him and he was drawing a blank. He was about to ask Morgan if he had managed to come up with anything, even just a glimmer of an idea, when he noticed his friend's face twisted oddly.

"Are you…are you thinking of ideas or are you just…walking?"

"Wha – of course I'm thinking, Chuck. My eyebrows are furrowed, my mouth is contorted in thought. What else would cause such a face, if not deep concentration?"

Well, that was descriptive.

Morgan took a breath before saying, "I've got nothing so far. You?"

Chuck ran a hand through his hair in frustration, and let it rest on the back of his neck. "I can't think of anything. I mean they're by the ocean so…maybe that's something…I don't know," he said, feeling useless.

"Well...maybe if we focus on things we know – comics, movies, TV – we can get an idea from there," Morgan offered.

"Morgan, this is real life and my girlfriend has been taken by some crazy, egotistical jerk with an accent." Chuck argued, a bit agitated.

"I know that," Morgan said, holding his hands out in front of him, in what Chuck assumed was meant to calm him down. "But that doesn't mean we can't look to them for an idea. Good ideas can come from anywhere, right?" Chuck narrowed his eyes as he nodded. "Okay, then. We just need to think of a time when we've seen characters get in and out, while having clever, albeit highly improbable, escapes and having to make a break for it."

Chuck actually gasped as he came to a complete halt. Morgan's words had inadvertently given him an idea, and by the way Morgan's eyes widened as he stared back at him, it had dawned on him, too. They stared at each other in silence for a few moments, Chuck taking the time to mull it over in his head.

"The ocean is _right_ there so…" Morgan finally said.

"I suppose technically it _is_ feasible," Chuck said, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared off in contemplation. "But we still need a way in. I'll need to do some research on that army and look at the map more when we get back." As he turned to resume their walk, he pulled back and added, "Oh, and we'll need to buy a few things."

Morgan nodded in understanding, scratching his beard.

Feeling slightly more at ease now that they had at least a part of the plan, they began walking again. But when he thought about the magnitude of what lay ahead of them, fear immediately overtook him. He glanced at Morgan who was tugging at his collar like there wasn't enough air in the world. He knew it, too. Could they do this? It was risky. Dangerous. Probably suicidal. None of that mattered, though.

It was Sarah.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

It smelled horrible and it was hot.

The zip-ties were cutting into her wrists and ankles. They weren't taking any chances with them. If only Casey had kept his mouth shut, he wouldn't be unconscious right now, and she wouldn't be left alone with her thoughts. She looked over at his slumped form at the corner of the truck. You have to pick your moments like I do, Casey, she thought. She brought her cuffed hands to her forehead and rubbed the small bump that had formed just at her hairline. She couldn't help but sneer. It wasn't her fault that one of the henchmen had a broken nose because he was standing directly in front of her just as she "violently sneezed." That it had happened just as he was slowly running a finger down her face after meticulously disarming her in unnecessary detail was just an inexplicable coincidence. She didn't even get a 'bless you.'

She breathed a deep sigh and clenched her eyes shut before opening them again, as she fought her own thoughts from turning in the inevitable direction they were headed.

Chuck.

The one semblance of refuge her mind clung to was knowing that at least he was able to escape. He was safe. For a little while. But now? She was both proud and scared to death of the fact that he would come find her and Casey.

She shook her head in frustration.

This was not how it was supposed to happen. How the hell had they managed to get surrounded the way they had? The numbers they found themselves up against were completely unexpected. And all of this just as she finished telling Chuck to be careful…damn it. Now, she found herself with her partner, who was stirring out of unconsciousness, in the back of a draped truck heading into, she assumed, the jungles of South America – if said truck and makeshift camouflage uniforms of their interim captors were of any indication.

She had distantly overheard the conversation between Chuck and the diplomat. He wanted the intel back and he wasn't about to make Chuck's search for them a particularly difficult one judging by the beeping her and Casey's homing beacons had made as Chuck activated them early on in her unwelcomed forced expedition. She was just waiting for the telltale sign of being located.

The truck jerkily began to slow down until rolling to a stop. She heard shouting surround their truck before it quickly quieted. They were sitting there a few minutes, unmoving. Craning her neck in an effort to hear anything from outside, a blinking light from the corner of her eye caused her to turn back around. Her stomach flipped as she stared down at the flashing from the faces of both her and Casey's watches, indicating that Chuck was now alerted to and was probably honing in on their locations. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or terrified at what she knew was forthcoming. She felt a mixture of both. She was feeling a lot of things since being captured.

"Walker…" Casey suddenly grumbled as he positioned himself to sit up.

"I know."

"They let us keep our watches?"

"Yeah. While you were out, you missed the part where he wants Chuck to come to him. He made it easy. I think the whole world knows agents have GPS watches," Sarah answered. "So much for secrecy," she humorlessly added.

"Since you've been awake, where the hell are we?"

Through the dim sunlight shining through the gratings of the side panels of the draped truck, she saw Casey turn his head from side to side, seemingly getting a feel for the atmosphere. Just as she was about to answer him, he cut her off.

"Never mind." She quirked an eyebrow. "Sweat. Tarped trucks." He sniffed the air a few times. "Forestation," he said before his face contorted in disgust. Apparently those three variables could only signify one thing. "Ugh…rebels," he growled.

Impressive. And he wasn't even conscious when they were transferred into a rebel truck.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke again. "You know, now that he knows where we are, he's going to come for us."

"I know." Sarah answered weakly.

"He doesn't care if he doesn't have the Intersect."

"I know this, Casey," she said in a louder voice this time. Why was he telling her things she already knew? And worse, he was telling her things she feared. Nonetheless, she couldn't help but feel hope. If anyone could do it, it was her Chuck.

"Which means that he'll probably have some elaborate and moronic plan that'll somehow end up working out."

Suddenly, the back of the truck opened, plunging sunlight from the late afternoon into its bed and directly into the faces of its occupants. She blinked a few times. Casey's statement gave her a sense of peace that was steadily overtaking the fear she felt moments before. The multitude of men, both of the rebel and henchmen variety – the broken-nosed guard included – pointing numerous rifles in their direction didn't stop Casey from finishing his thought.

"Although, Grimes is with him," he added.

She was thankful for the veiled attempt at levity Casey was providing. They both scooted their bodies toward the opening, Sarah coming face to face with Broken Nose himself. She saw the dried blood along the edges of his nostrils and bruising that had developed and felt a bit of satisfaction at seeing her work. She saw Casey alternate glances between herself and the henchman a couple of times, pausing once to look at her forehead, before one of the others came forward with a blade and cut the zip-ties at her ankles, and then Casey's.

"So what happened to your head?" Casey asked with a lightness to his voice, as if it was just the two of them, while they slid off the back of the truck and into the crowd of men aiming their weapons at them.

She gave him a sidelong glance, the corners of her mouth quirking up. "I sneezed."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, just as they were led into a clearing in the jungle. With a smirk, he said, "Bless you."

* * *

_If you caught the slight hint I gave…*looks both ways* Shhhh. If you didn't – it might not be a source you'd think they would consider. Review if you feel compelled to do so! I'd appreciate any and all feedback._


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N:_** _*taps mic* Is anybody there? Anybody actually reading this story? Yes? No? Maybe? Depends on how much Charah there is?  
_

_Okay well, this chapter took a LONG time, and even so it's my shortest one thus far and contains a lot of nonsense. Go figure. But it also has some important bits. I think. It might qualify as filler. I don't actually know if it's "filler" because I'm not familiar with the lingo writers use._

_I must thank **retropanda37 **for her beta skills and for not quitting on me once she read this chapter. I'm being totally serious. Also, thanks to my sister for her feedback. My endless gratitude also goes out to those who have read, reviewed, and/or put this story on their alerts :)  
_

_**Disclaimer:** I was sick at one point during the writing process and I may or may not have been in a cough meds-induced delirium for parts of this chapter. NyQuil is kinda trippy.  
_

* * *

_Please let this work._

Chuck's mind was a blur, the only clear thoughts sounding in his head his own blaring pleas for this plan to work. Admittedly, it wasn't the smartest plan. In fact it was downright stupid; coming down to simply hoping things went his way. If he was honest with himself, most of his plans always came down to that. But rescuing Sarah and Casey in plain sight of the rebels was probably the most precarious plan he'd ever decided to go through with. It was either this or a shady meeting come sundown. He figured, though, that if he just walked up to Mr. Accent and his army to engage in a questionable exchange, he was guaranteeing his, Sarah's, and Casey's capture. At least if he went through with his plan, he was giving them more of a chance to escape.

He took a moment to swipe the sweat off his forehead with his forearm before he resumed digging. Morgan was laying back, his body casually strewn across the sand, head resting on a knapsack, playing his role as an arbitrary person lying out trying to get some sun, and _not_ one trying to distract from what Chuck was currently busying himself with. It was a largely secluded area but Chuck didn't want to take the chance of some vagabond wandering by and noticing his actions. Therefore, he instructed Morgan to just lay out. In an effort to look like an easygoing individual and not one who was preparing for a daring rescue mission, Morgan had taken to humming. Early on in Chuck's digging, the tunes had been random melodies. Only now that he noticed the humming was suddenly making him anxious, as Morgan had become more emphatic with the tune, did he realize his friend had chosen an actual song. He paused briefly from his hunched over position while digging in order to strain his ears over the breeze to put a name to the familiar tune. He finally recognized the song. That can't be right, he thought, as he straightened his back.

"Is that…Nerf Herder?"

Morgan looked Chuck's way at the question. "Uh, yeah."

"Buffy?" Chuck asked, unable to keep the utter puzzlement from his voice or off his face.

"Yeah," Morgan answered, drawing out the word.

Chuck gave him a look as if to ask why that song.

"I can't help it, Chuck. What we're about to do, especially you, needs a soundtrack or at least some theme music."

"And you chose _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_?"

"No," Morgan argued. "I chose Nerf Herder…or rather, it chose me."

Chuck nodded at Morgan to hand him what was arguably the key to their escape to place in the hole while his friend continued his defense of the song choice. There was absolutely nothing wrong with _Buffy_. In fact, he remembered a time when he used to have a crush on Buffy Summers; it was just such an oddly specific song to be humming.

"I don't know why; it just came into my head," Morgan continued. "Nobody gets to choose what songs get stuck in their heads."

"True," Chuck said, as he began filling the hole back up.

"I think it might be because I was watching a _Buffy_ marathon on TV right before we left for the mission."

Chuck let out a soft laugh, thankful for the distraction from his thoughts Morgan was conveniently providing. Morgan resumed his humming at a less energetic tempo, much to Chuck's relief. He was starting to feel the sweat slide down his back as the midmorning sun was making its approach higher in the sky, the sand sticking to his palms and forearms. His heart was beginning to pick up its pace in his chest, and now he wasn't so sure the sun was the sole cause for the beads of sweat currently running courses down the sides of his face. Slapping the mound of sand he had just created to serve as a marker, Chuck slowly leaned back and sat on his heels to observe the result of his work, satisfied that it didn't seem too noticeable as he surveyed the area.

"Okay," Chuck breathed. "How's it look?"

Morgan gave a quick scan around the beach before looking back at the mound. "Good. Are you going to be able to spot it?"

"Yeah. I'm sure I'll find it. Hand me the knapsack."

He grabbed it, pulling back the flap to get his shirt and knives. Slipping on the long-sleeve dark green shirt, he struggled to pull it down as it clung to his body due to his excessive sweat. It only served to remind him of how unsettled his nerves had been since separating from Sarah and Casey the day before. He pulled up the sleeves some and grabbed the three knives, placing them in his boot. Maybe Sarah will find some use for them, he mused. He stood up, hoping to better catch the breeze, and faced the ocean. The distinct weight of his tranq gun and Sig-Saur P229 tucked in his back was all he felt as he crossed his arms over his chest.

The flow of the wind surrounding him felt calming, helping to compose his nerves for what was coming. Initially, Chuck had wanted to go ahead with the mission immediately after finalizing the admittedly less than stellar plans for Sarah's and Casey's rescue, but thought better of it, as it was dark. He didn't know what he would come up against in the obscurity of the thick jungle and factoring complete darkness into the equation would only complicate things. The night had passed agonizingly slowly for him. He didn't know how he made it through. Before making their trek just near enough the camp location in the morning, Chuck knew he should've been sleeping the few hours available to make sure he was rested enough to be able to battle through their escape, but he just wasn't able to slip into anything resembling a slumber. How could he? He was too worried about Sarah as hundreds of thoughts and questions filled his mind. Was she okay? Was she hurt? What were they doing to her? He hoped she knew he was coming for her. He also hoped she wasn't mad that he was coming for her. But of all the thoughts running through his mind and emotions coursing through him during his insomnia, one feeling stuck out – he missed her. He wanted her back. Where she was safe. With him. He turned around with determination and faced Morgan.

"I'm ready. Are you ready, buddy?"

Morgan scrambled up from his prone position, sending grains of sand into the breeze, seemingly unaware that it was time. He ran a hand across his forehead before swiping the other across it as well and repeating the motion again. Chuck, sensing his friend was on the verge of freaking out, spoke up.

"Morgan," Chuck said cautiously as he stepped toward to his friend. "Morgan, this is it, okay? Don't freak out on me. We can do this. You just do whatever you need to do to get yourself through it, alright? Channel Michael Carmichael, Cobra – I don't care. Just…" Chuck took a deep breath. "Let's do this."

"You're right." Morgan nodded. "Let's do this. I'm not even the one who should be freaking out anyway. You're the one who's going in there." Morgan said. He then looked at him as if remembering something. "It's kind of late to be mentioning this, but you know there are probably people guarding Sarah and Casey, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," Morgan said. "…so how are you even planning on getting past them? You don't speak Spanish."

Chuck looked at him. This was the part of the plan he had intentionally kept ambiguous with Morgan during the planning to keep his friend from worrying. It was the part that, if he survived infiltrating the camp, was likely to be the biggest gamble. Realistically, the entire plan was a gamble, not just the infiltration, though it _was_ the part facing the greatest odds. Things could go horribly wrong and possibly end up with him being held captive along with Sarah and Casey.

Or dead.

He cleared his throat. "Well, um, I'm just going to, you know…" he trailed, furrowing his eyebrows and tensing his jaw. "Give them a really…scary menacing glare," he said. "And hope no words are exchanged," he rather lamely tacked on the end with a shrug, as he checked how secure his weapons were tucked in his waistband.

Morgan simply stared at Chuck before releasing a humorless laugh. "A menacing glare?" He blinked. "You?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Oh, my God, this plan…" Morgan muttered under his breath.

"Yeah," Chuck said, attempting to placate his friend. "…you know, I'll just blend in and not talk to – wait," he said, straightening up, a thought occurring to him. "You don't think I can pull off a menacing glare?" he asked, slightly affronted. Chuck didn't think he was _that_ much of wimp to not be able to pull off an intimidating stare.

"Well…" Morgan said, dipping his head to one side, assessing him. His eyes started at Chuck's boots before slowly rising to his pants, finally reaching the long-sleeved shirt Chuck's upper body was filling out with his arms crossed over his chest. Chuck raised an eyebrow when his friend reached his face. "You know what? Actually, yeah, you can," Morgan assented, a tinge of awe coloring his voice. With more assurance he added, "Yeah, you can definitely pull it off – especially with that beard. It makes you look rugged."

"Rugged? Really?" Chuck asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice.

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

"I think Sarah digs it, too."

"Yeah?"

"I noticed her staring at you a little bit longer than she normally does just before the mission."

"Hmm," Chuck mused. "There's no way I'm ever letting it get as thick as yours, though."

"Well, not many can pull off this look, my friend."

Morgan bent down and shouldered the knapsack. They then began walking away from the ocean toward the line of forest that awaited Chuck. He looked to his right at Morgan.

"Alright buddy, this is where we part. You have the coordinates and the GPS, right?"

Morgan nodded.

Chuck took a deep breath. "Well, alright then. Don't be late."

"I'll be there, man. You can count on me."

"I know I can." Chuck slapped his friend on the back. "Good luck."

"Good luck, Chuck. Now, go get your lady."

He watched Morgan turn around and trudge away. Morgan was shaking his head from side to side no doubt doing his best to not freak out over this half-baked plan of theirs. Chuck turned and faced the depths of the jungle before him. An uncomfortable mixture of nervousness, anticipation, determination, fear, and nausea came over him. He ran a hand over his face, noting the coat of sweat it picked up even through his beard, and then wiped it on his pants.

He swallowed roughly before he stepped forward and ventured into the green expanse that awaited him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sarah rolled her eyes for the third time that morning.

This diplomat, whom Sarah at some point had determined was from the Iranian side of the foiled intel exchange, was _really_ starting to get on her nerves. His paranoia wasn't something he hid very well, as he had shown up in the tent she and Casey were being held _every_ hour the previous day and well into the night, and then had begun his routine again today. He'd already shown up three times so far, which admittedly surprised her since it meant he never actually left the camp the night before. As if his compulsive attendance wasn't enough, his ridiculous attempt to get her and Casey to disclose national secrets that came with every visit was also _very_ annoying. His line of questioning wasn't even that good. Didn't he know covert agents were trained to withstand interrogation techniques – techniques that were much more effective than his? She actually felt somewhat insulted that he didn't deem her nor Casey worthy of harsher methods – as twisted as that sounded in her own head. He would just plainly ask what the U.S. was planning on doing with the information on the drive and then stare at them in a way that Sarah could only assume was meant to scare her and Casey.

_Casey_, she thought.

Casey, with all of his Reagan-revering, gun-loving, G-man suit-wearing, American snark, had made his thoughts on rebel armies and Iranian-Venezuelan relations inexhaustibly clear the night before. Once Casey's deference for Reagan had managed to come out during one of their captor's visits, an impromptu rehash of the Iran-Contra affair had somehow taken place. That's when things got ugly for Casey.

Again.

At first, Sarah was rather amused at the way Casey and the diplomat had been engaged in a heated discussion over a twenty-five year old issue. That was until, after instruction from the politico, Casey's head met the butt end of the rifle belonging to the rebel standing guard inside the tent.

It was the second time he had gotten knocked out that day.

All she could do was think that Casey _seriously_ needed to pick his moments better.

Now, here they were, still bound at the wrists and re-bound at the ankles, in the tent. Waiting. The meeting was supposed to happen later that day, she remembered that much. She wasn't sure what Chuck was planning to do come sundown. Surely he wouldn't expect the diplomat to honestly go through with the exchange. There was no way he could be trusted to follow through on his word. Hell, from what she remembered overhearing of the conversation the previous day, their captor didn't even give his word to Chuck that there would be an "exchange." The numbers available to this man at the rebel camp only served to stir the worry in her stomach more furiously.

Whenever she was threatened it never mattered to Chuck what he had to go through to make sure she was safe. He always became more determined. She loved that about him. But, as she glanced at Casey, who was seated on the ground next to her, bound in the exact same way, and then looked at the rebel standing guard inside the tent holding his rifle, and listened to the bustling of the many other armed rebel soldiers outside going about their activities, her safety became less important. Even if this had happened to her when Chuck had the Intersect, this was a dangerous place for him to enter. Especially alone.

With no back-up.

She sighed.

Sarah brought her knees up to her chest and leaned her forehead against them. She closed her eyes and blew out a breath to calm her nerves. Chuck was going to be okay, she told herself. She was going to be okay. Casey was going to be okay, and _somehow_ they were going to get out of here. Chuck would have a plan – he always had a plan. Things didn't always go _according_ to the plan but there was always a general plan and the end result was always favorable.

_He always had a plan._

Even for a proposal, she thought, as a slow smile formed. She brought her head up. Things would be okay. There was a plan.

_Please let his plan work._

_

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_**Disclaimer #2:** Don't own Chuck! Please don't sue! _


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